


Nightmare

by Actual_Writing_Trashcan



Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [49]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, That's it, aaahhhh it feels good, but it feels angsty to me, i dialed up the angst on this one, i mean i guess it's not all that angsty, it's been a while since i unleashed my inner angst queen, piotr has a nightmare and you comfort him, so i'm calling it angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 16:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19398406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan
Summary: You wake up after Piotr suffers from a particularly heinous nightmare and do your best to comfort him.Set after "Moving In" and before "Gatekeeper."[All warnings in the tags, but this is basically G-PG. It only hit the T rating because I like using the word "fuck."]





	Nightmare

Nightmares aren’t an uncommon experience in the bedroom you share with Piotr.

Usually, it’s you. You’ve got more than enough traumatic experiences to act as “canon material” for the suckers, so it’s not all that uncommon for you to wake up in the dead hours of the night, soaked with sweat and heart racing hard enough to be audible in your ears.

Which is why, when you wake up to Piotr letting out some kind of shout and hurtling off the bed like it’s on fire, your first thought is worrying over him being sick.

(Well, second. Your _first_ thought is ‘ _the fuck?_ ’)

But he isn’t in the bathroom or bending over the wastebasket you guys keep by your bed for tissues and… _other things_. He’s out on the balcony attached to your room, clad only in his boxers, bracing himself against the railing while his shoulders heave like he’s just run a marathon.

Which brings back the ‘sick’ thought, but you dismiss it almost immediately, because Piotr _is not_ the type to puke off a balcony.

You scrounge around on the floorspace by the bed until you find his shirt –you two had been _doing things_ that resulted in _other things_ earlier that night—and put it on before walking out onto the balcony.

It’s silent, save for the sounds of his gasping and the occasional car in the distance.

You reach out to touch the arm and realize that he’s gripping the railing so hard he would’ve broken it had he been armored up. “Baby.” You slip between him and the railing and take his face in your hands. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

He pants hard, forehead damp with sweat as he presses it against yours. “ _Ty v poryadke…_ ”

Your eyes widen when you realize he’s shaking. “Piotr, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer; he simply lifts you into his arms and buries his face into your neck, slowly sinking to his knees as his shaking grows more violent.

You wrap your arms around his neck and adjust your legs so you’re straddling him. “Babe, what’s wrong? Talk to me, _please_.”

His voice is hoarse with sleep and utterly broken when he speaks. “Nightmare.”

You sigh –relieved that he’s not hurt or sick—and thread your fingers into his hair. “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. But everything’s okay.”

A cool breeze makes you shiver in his arms –and realize that the two of you should head back into your bedroom. You’re clad only in a shirt, but Piotr’s sweat-soaked and in boxers; if you’re cold, so is he.

“Piotr.” You kiss his temple before sliding out of his arms –which is initially met with a moment of resistance before he lets you go. “Baby, come on. Let’s go back to bed. You’ll get too cold out here.” You take his hands in yours and gently tug him towards the door. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

He follows you silently, seemingly numb from whatever he saw in his dreams.

“Alright,” you murmur after you close the balcony door. “I’ll get a towel so you can wipe yourself off. How about you get some fresh boxers so you aren’t all damp?”

He rubs his face with his hands and exhales heavily. “ _Khorosho_.”

When you return from the bathroom with a towel, he’s already changed and sitting on the edge of the bed.

He looks haggard. Like he’s seen the horrors of the world and didn’t want to live to see what came after.

You gently pat at his forehead with the towel. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“ _Nyet_ ,” he says automatically, vehemently. “Just… no.”

“Okay, okay,” you croon reassuringly. “That’s fine. I just wanted to offer.”

He doesn’t say anything in response, instead pulling you into a borderline crushing hug.

You hold him back for a little bit, the maneuver so you can wipe the last of the sweat off his back and arms. “Are you feeling a little better? A little calmer, at least?”

“A little,” he says. He kisses your shoulder. “ _Moya myshka_. I would be lost without you.”

But his hand curls around your wrist, fingers pressing against your pulse point.

It’s not hard to guess what he saw on the inside of his dreams.

You toss the towel aside and kiss his forehead. “Alright, let’s get back in bed. I’m gonna hold you, and you’re gonna hold me, and if you have any more bad dreams, I’m gonna crawl inside your brain and beat them up. Sound good?”

He chuckles –you can’t help but feel victorious at the sound—and kisses your cheek. “ _Da_. Very good.”

The two of you crawl back into bed together, yanking the covers around until you’ve got a situation that approximates satisfaction.

Piotr’s quick to take you back into his arms, pressing his face against your neck and chest.

You tilt your head back so your lips are pressed against his forehead and cradle his head in your arms. “I’m sorry you had such a bad nightmare, sweetheart.”

He sighs, shaky and stuttered, and grips your waist tightly. “It was all dream. And is all in past.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, “but that doesn’t mean they’re not scary.”

Things go quiet for a bit after that, save for the sounds of yours and his breathing.

It isn’t until you feel dampness against your neck and Piotr’s shoulders shaking that you realize he’s crying.

You rub your thumb against his burly shoulder. “Baby, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

He swallows hard and sniffs quietly. “I… I cannot lose you.”

Your heart aches for him, and you sling a leg over his waist while sliding your hand into his hair. “You won’t, sweetheart. I promise.”

“There is no controlling—”

“I don’t give a _shit_ about the universe or reality or death, Piotr. I will _not_ let _anything_ come between us, okay?” You kiss his forehead. “I will _always_ find a way back to you. You hear me, Rasputin?”

He draws in a shaky breath and holds you tighter. “I hear you.”

Things go quiet again after that, save for the occasional “I love you.” You rub his back and stroke his hair until you’re both dozing off, lulled to sleep in the safety of each other’s embrace.

Your last thought before slipping into unconsciousness is, ‘ _Always_.’


End file.
